


Everywhere at Once

by Laura Shapiro (laurashapiro)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley has a penis today, Crowley has a vulva today, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Refractory Period, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, PIV Sex, PWP, Service Top, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Triple Penetration, Xeno, all the penetration, also it's pretty romantic tbh, and I'm rather proud of it, betcha can't eat just one, demons have no refractory period, this is the iddiest sexiest squelchiest thing I've ever written, why stop at one anything, why stop at one cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/Laura%20Shapiro
Summary: Crowley was pinned against the wall of his flat. Aziraphale didn’t much like Crowley’s flat, but where wall-pinning was concerned it was clearly the superior choice, having no bookshelves. It was a bright afternoon in late autumn, sun streaming in through the skylight, illuminating Crowley’s pale skin and crowning him with rich red-gold radiance. Crowley was naked, arms overhead, wrists together, legs drawn up, bound as surely as if with chains, though with only Aziraphale’s will. They had been making free with miracles for months now with no repercussions, and Aziraphale couldn’t think of a better use for his power, at this moment, than to see Crowley so exquisitely at his mercy.





	Everywhere at Once

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Aziraphale and Crowley indulge in an idea they discussed in [I Will Make the Hymns of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772659), the conclusion of the [Leaves of Grass](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1406341) series. It is set several weeks after that story. But you can read this as a standalone work.

“You promised.”

“My dear, if you search your normally excellent memory you will find I did no such thing.”

Crowley was pinned against the wall of his flat. Aziraphale didn’t much like Crowley’s flat, but where wall-pinning was concerned it was clearly the superior choice, having no bookshelves. It was a bright afternoon in late autumn, sun streaming in through the skylight, illuminating Crowley’s pale skin and crowning him with rich red-gold radiance. Crowley was naked, arms overhead, wrists together, legs drawn up, bound as surely as if with chains, though with only Aziraphale’s will. They had been making free with miracles for months now with no repercussions, and Aziraphale couldn’t think of a better use for his power, at this moment, than to see Crowley so exquisitely at his mercy.

“Don’t make me beg.”

“Ah, but I do so like it when you beg.” Aziraphale slid three fingers into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley sucked them eagerly, running his tongue up and down and between them, giving Aziraphale a lovely shiver. “That’s right, get them nice and wet. What’s more, _you_ like it when you beg.”

Aziraphale withdrew his fingers and circled Crowley’s arsehole with them. Crowley’s mouth fell open and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then open again. Aziraphale loved to see Crowley’s eyes, and Crowley knew it.

“Beautiful. You are beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured, overcome. He seized Crowley’s hair with his free hand and kissed him, entering his mouth and his arse and feeling Crowley groan and quake against him. Crowley’s long, elegant cock was hard against his taut abdomen, almost purple where the tip broached the foreskin. Below, his thighs were slick with juice from the cunt he had manifested specially for this occasion. The scent of him was playing merry hell with Aziraphale’s self-control.

Aziraphale was hard as granite and his cock had been aching for three quarters of an hour now. He was still fully clothed, though barefoot and in shirtsleeves. He couldn’t rush this, it was too delicious. He pushed deeper into the kiss, then pulled back to draw his teeth along Crowley’s bottom lip.

“You know I’ve been thinking about it for days,” Crowley said, in the logical yet urgent tone he used when he wanted to be especially tempting. “ _You’ve_ been thinking about it for days. Think about how it’ll feel, to be inside me everywhere. To feel my arse, my mouth, my hands, my cunt on you all at once. I’ll make it so good for you, angel. You know I will.”

“Crowley, Crowley,” Aziraphale tutted, removing his fingers from Crowley’s arse and appreciating with amusement his bereft and slightly outraged gasp. “There is absolutely nothing you can say to make this happen any faster.” 

He stepped away, to heighten the frustration that Crowley claimed to hate but actually craved. The picture Crowley made was astonishing. Aziraphale admired the smooth rise of Crowley’s pectorals into the muscles of his shoulders, the hollows of his armpits. He bent to bite at Crowley’s nipple and inhaled the complex bouquet of him, an aroma he loved above all others: the intoxicating symphony of Crowley in heat. Basso profundo: underarm, earth, animal rut. Midtones: leather, metal, smoke. Treble: citrus peel, burnt sugar. Aziraphale wondered idly if he’d ever tell Crowley that sometimes he smelled a bit like crème brûlée. His mouth filled and he bit and sucked more vigorously until Crowley whined. He stepped back again.

Crowley tossed his head and recovered himself enough to smile. “Ah. So you admit it’s happening, then.”

Crowley’s smile did things to Aziraphale’s heart now, things that it had probably done for centuries but that he had not allowed himself to feel. Now everything was allowed. Oh, my love, thought Aziraphale, I can’t deny you anything. Not anymore. “ _Something_ is happening, certainly.” He watched Crowley's face as he removed his tie, undid his top button, unbuttoned his cuffs, and ever so slowly rolled up his sleeves.

Crowley was meant to be the modern one, but he still reacted to the baring of Aziraphale's body like a Victorian youth catching a desperate glimpse of a girl's ankle. "Angel," he breathed, eyes and lips shining. "Bring that over here. Right now."

Crowley's hunger for Aziraphale was the most persuasive argument he could have made, if only he knew it. Aziraphale moved forward, bracing his arms either side of Crowley's head, and kissed him deeply. Crowley sucked his tongue, then turned his head to suck and bite at the tender skin of Aziraphale's inner forearm, the inside of his elbow. His teeth sent bright flashes up Aziraphale's arm and down into his cock. He stifled a gasp, and then noticed Crowley was trying to grind against him -- Aziraphale stepped back just in time. Crowley moaned and huffed out a laugh. “Aziraphale, you pricktease.”

“Just as you like it, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and opened his flies. He withdrew his own cock, watching Crowley’s eyes, drawn to it like a magnet. He gave himself a light stroke from crown to root, then a firm one. “Mmm, oh, that’s good,” he said, quickening his strokes for a moment as Crowley’s gaze flicked back and forth from his face to his moving hand. Crowley was practically drooling. Excellent.

“Give me that. Give it here. I want it,” Crowley muttered, in rhythm to Aziraphale’s hand.

“What, this?” Aziraphale said, with an assertive thrust into his fist.

“Bastard,” Crowley said, but he was grinning. Aziraphale’s desire blossomed all over his body. He moved forward and took Crowley’s cock in his free hand. Crowley hummed at the touch and his hips jackknifed off the wall as Aziraphale gave them both a few firm but languid strokes. The touch of his own hand on himself was so welcome, the feel of Crowley’s hot, slick cock sliding in his palm so enticing, he thought momentarily about just bringing them both off this way first. The image beguiled his senses, and he became momentarily unmindful of Crowley’s restraints. As he hastily brought part of his attention back to where it belonged, it became clear to Aziraphale that if he allowed himself to come to orgasm, his concentration would fail and Crowley would tumble to the floor. What mattered here was Crowley’s pleasure. He steeled himself, stilling his strokes and releasing Crowley’s cock. He would need a good deal of strength and self-control for this. Fortunately, he had a lot of practice at both.

Certainly, Aziraphale had always indulged himself in earthly pleasures at every opportunity: sumptuous dining, the finest wines and spirits, music and theatre, above all his books. He exercised little self-control and felt no guilt when it came to these delights, which he appreciated with all his senses, from the texture of hotate sashimi to the scent of a book last opened in 1789. They were celebrations of God’s glory, they were what made the world worth saving, what made life worth living.

Then there was sex. Aziraphale had had a great deal of it in various eras, much of it anonymous, never more than once with the same person. He mapped each human body with reverence for God’s creation, and learned much about the boundaries of pleasure. With a willing partner, one unlikely to think of him again later, he felt it did them no harm, and he relished each encounter without restraint.

All of Aziraphale’s restraint had been for Crowley. For millennia, he had refused every offer, rebuffed every request, curbed every impulse. Even after their Arrangement, Aziraphale’s fear of Heaven drove him to resist Crowley’s approaches, to make a great show of saying no each time, even though he would then uphold the agreement. Aziraphale would not have said, then, that there could have been anything between them, but as his hunger for Crowley -- his love for Crowley -- had grown impossible to ignore, so his negations had become more urgent, even offensive. As the stakes grew higher and the world hung in the balance, he had rejected not only Crowley’s love but his friendship, had rejected Crowley himself.

Afterwards, when he knew how fiercely Crowley loved and wanted him, Aziraphale had not waited for another request. He had kissed Crowley, saying yes not just to Crowley but to the dearest wish of his own heart, and when Crowley had opened and moaned against him, he had known that every other sort of self-indulgence had only been clearing the way for this.

Aziraphale stepped back again and began unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned. “Please, just make them disappear.”

“Nonsense. I like this shirt. And you like watching me undress,” he noted, regarding Crowley’s avid stare. He pushed the shirt off his shoulders and removed his vest. Crowley’s breath caught.

“Angel, let me suck those nipples for you.”

“Are you really trying to order me about?” Aziraphale inquired, stepping out of his trousers and boxers. He moved forward then to dip his fingers into Crowley’s vulva, teasing at his inner labia and the base of his cock where it sprouted like an enormous proud clit.

“Aah, ah, never mind, forget I said anything,” Crowley said, dropping his head to his chest and starting to pant. 

“You are such a lot of work, my dear,” Aziraphale said, creating a dollop of what was needful to ease the way and slowly pushing his cock into Crowley’s arse. “It’s a good thing you’re worth it.”

“Unnnn,” Crowley grunted through his teeth. Crowley relaxed for him easily now, and Aziraphale met no resistance at all as his cock slid home. Crowley’s body welcomed him, hot and open, but so hungry, clamping down and meeting his thrusts as Aziraphale moved against him. Aziraphale loved fucking Crowley, never tired of being inside him, never tired of the sensations of sweet hot pressure and the raw, slippery, oh-so-human _carnality_ of it. He moved slowly, dragging himself almost all the way out, savoring the squeeze against the sensitive corona of his cock, sliding back in inch by inch. Crowley’s cunt, Aziraphale noticed with pleasure, was emanating heat and wetness all over his belly.

Crowley was rolling his hips, trying to urge him on. “Aaahh, Aziraphale, please, just fuck me.”

“I am fucking you, my dear,” Aziraphale retorted, withdrawing almost all the way out again and then thrusting in, fast and hard.

“Ngk,” Crowley said, and then “Oh, _yeah,_ ” as Aziraphale quickened his pace for a while. Crowley’s head thunked back against the wall, baring the curve of his throat, as he met Aziraphale’s thrusts with the sinuous movements that normally undid them both. Aziraphale’s breath came faster and heat gathered in his cock and radiated through his body. He calmed his breathing deliberately and backed himself off as much as he could, slowing down before Crowley could peak and relishing the languid slide once again.

“Oh, you...oh…” Crowley panted, “Not fair.”

“You love it and you know it,” Aziraphale said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “But surely this isn’t all you wanted? Wasn’t there something about being inside you everywhere?” Aziraphale had, indeed, been thinking about this for days. Crowley’s desire for him seemed truly limitless, an eternal fire Aziraphale was only too happy to fling himself into again and again. He couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t wait to overwhelm Crowley with sensation, drive him into a frenzy.

Crowley sucked a breath in through his teeth and clenched around Aziraphale’s cock, inflaming him further. “Ungh, yes, yes, please, do it.”

Aziraphale concentrated. A human observer (oh, lucky human observer!) would have seen Crowley impaled on Aziraphale’s single, rather human-looking cock. An occult or aethereal observer (with shock and horror and a hasty report back to headquarters) would have seen a bouquet of phalli rooted in Aziraphale, a single cock existing in multiple planes simultaneously, a multidimensional forest of erotic possibility. With one cock still in his arse, Aziraphale now entered Crowley’s cunt with another.

“Oh, holy ffff---” Crowley gasped, eyes wide for a moment and then slamming shut against the sensation. Aziraphale felt the inside of Crowley in a new way against his hungry cock, new wondrous textures and a divine wetness, a great sucking jubilee of friction, and decided that cunts were very nice after all, thank you. Embedding himself in Crowley to the hilt, the combined sensation of being in cunt and arse at once nearly did for him, and he had to stop moving entirely for a moment. He redoubled his mental energies, strengthening the bonds holding Crowley to the wall. He felt Crowley’s pulse at the roots of him. He felt Crowley _squeezing_ him, rhythmically, with intent.

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley’s throat, his lips. His belly pressed against Crowley’s straining cock as he did so. Crowley whimpered and met his eyes for a moment.

“Angel, angel, angel,” he chanted, “it’s so good, you’ve no idea. Ssso, ssso good. You have to give me more. Please, please, fuck me.”

Aziraphale flooded with heat. He loved to see Crowley at the extremity of his need. He loved to hear Crowley make demands that he could, at last, fulfill. He gave Crowley another glancing kiss, took Crowley’s cock in hand, and then went to work, driving into him with long, hard, agonizingly gorgeous strokes until Crowley came with a shout, spattering them both with spunk as he clenched around him again and again.

Aziraphale, nearly overwhelmed himself, fought to keep control against the surge of passion he felt. There was still so much more to give. He stilled as soon as Crowley did, pressing his forehead to Crowley’s and once again slowing his breathing. Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale into a deep kiss.

“Satisfied?” Aziraphale asked him, knowing the answer full well.

“Never,” Crowley replied, licking his ear, then biting until Aziraphale shivered all over. Crowley had quickly worked out that Aziraphale’s ears were sensitive and he used the advantage every time. Oh, Aziraphale wanted him so much; still, always, so much. 

“Who’s the greedy bastard now?” Aziraphale smiled, kissing Crowley again, and concentrating further. Two of his interdimensional cocks now made their way into Crowley’s hands. Aziraphale snapped his hips and Crowley gasped, filled in arse, cunt, and both palms.

“That. That is really.” Crowley gulped. “That is really fucking hot. Do it again.”

Aziraphale obliged him, continuing to thrust, four cocks now being stroked to fiery pleasure by Crowley’s knowledgeable hands and hot, wet body. Crowley slid Aziraphale’s foreskins back and forth, and pushed against the wall to meet every roll of his hips, breathing hard. Crowley was still erect, his cunt still pouring juice, obscene wet slapping sounds emanating from everywhere. Crowley’s scent bathed Aziraphale in its rich funk and he lolled in sublime sensuality for a few moments before steeling himself once more.

“Crowley, I love seeing you like this. You look transcendent.”

“So good, angel,” Crowley panted, and licked his lips. “Aziraphale, do it, do it, fill me up.”

Aziraphale gathered himself. The final cock he had manifested probed at Crowley’s lips, and Crowley licked him avidly, a fluttering slickness almost too sensitive on Aziraphale’s desperate cock. Then Crowley sucked him down with a great hungry groan, opening his throat. Aziraphale felt Crowley everywhere, a lush deluge of sensation. His whole body screamed at him to let go, and now this wet, frantic suction and Crowley’s desperate desire very nearly overset him. Aziraphale felt gravity tug Crowley earthward a dangerous fraction of an inch. This would never do.

What celestial concentration could not manage, celestial muscle could achieve with ease. Aziraphale wrapped one arm around Crowley’s waist and slid the other under his arse. With a sigh he released the mental effort of keeping Crowley bound and peeled him off the wall, holding him securely. Crowley’s arms fell and then wrapped themselves around his neck, hands still full of Aziraphale’s cocks. His legs scrabbled a moment and then found their way around Aziraphale’s waist. Aziraphale held him up, light as air, rejoicing in his own strength, rejoicing as always in having Crowley in his arms. Bathed in pleasure, he let his wings out for balance, beating in time with his hips as he began a slow but intense slide into Crowley. And he spoke.

“For six thousand years, I said no to you,” He kissed Crowley’s cheek, his working jaw. “Now, I only want to say yes.” He gave an energetic thrust, inside Crowley everywhere, Crowley’s cock tight and urgent against his belly. “Yes.” Another thrust. “Yes.” Another, and Crowley keened deep in his throat, coming again, sucking Aziraphale fiercely and spasming around him again and again. Aziraphale held him hard through his bliss, kissing his forehead, taking in great draughts of his scent. Crowley’s glorious body wrapped around him, trembling, was a miracle.

Aziraphale’s cocks -- all five of them -- burnt white-hot. He badly wanted to come, wasn’t sure he could stop himself now. His hips were moving of their own volition, cocks bursting with sensation, words pouring out as they always did when his passion was at its peak. “Crowley, you feel like holy rapture itself, with your diabolical mouth and your obscene hips.” Crowley sucked him on and on, throat working, cunt grasping, arse clenching, hands stroking urgently. Crowley’s body was plastered against his, hot and wet and sticky and smelling like life, like everything best about life. “I love fucking you like this. Oh, fuck! I want -- oh -- want to give you everything.” Aziraphale was on the brink, flooding. “You deserve. Everything! Yes! Every good thing -- ah! -- I could ever give you!”

Crowley hummed in rhythmic exclamation, coming again (still?), and Aziraphale’s orgasm slammed into him like a wall, hard and inexorable, and he cried out again and again, fucking into Crowley over and over, everywhere at once, every atom of him shouting yes. 

When he caught his breath, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley’s halo had made one of its rare appearances, covering them both in a flickering golden glow. Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek and withdrew his cocks from Crowley’s mouth and hands. He felt Crowley’s hands flatten against his back, then heard him crack his knuckles. He smiled into Crowley’s neck. With trembling knees, keeping Crowley in his arms, Aziraphale walked him over to the ridiculous throne Crowley used as a desk chair. As gently as he could, he leant down to seat Crowley in the chair, finally withdrawing from his body, and settling himself cross-legged at Crowley’s feet.

“You need a sofa,” he observed.

“Mmmm, I don’t think I need anything at all, just at the moment.” Crowley said, stretching. Aziraphale kissed his knee, his thigh.

“You can’t mean to tell me you’re actually sated?” Aziraphale asked, genuinely surprised.

“Welllll, maybe for a few minutes.” Crowley snapped his fingers and they were both suddenly a good deal less sticky. “I’m sure it won’t last.”

“That’s a relief.” Aziraphale laid his head in Crowley’s lap. “As I was saying, this is a frightfully poor place for a cuddle,” he remarked.

Crowley gave a great long-suffering sigh and snapped his fingers again. A white leather sofa appeared, decorated with a few red pillows and a fashionably fuzzy throw. Aziraphale eagerly adjourned to it and Crowley joined him, snuggling into his arms and pulling the blanket over them. “The things I do for you, angel.” he said.

A pause, then they both laughed. Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead. Crowley twined his limbs around Aziraphale and burrowed into his neck. “Next time --” he yawned.

“Oh, yes? Next time?”

“Next time, _I_ want to be the one with all the cocks.” Images began to form in Aziraphale’s mind, and in a moment his whole body was fizzing with anticipation.

“Yes, my dear,” he said, pulling Crowley closer. “I would like that very much. Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> All hail [Juliet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliet), who made this story more romantic, and a lot hotter, than it would have been.
> 
> The phrase "bouquet of phalli" is nicked from Tony Kushner's Angels in America, without which this story might not exist at all.


End file.
